


So This is the New Year

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, Drunkenness, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, M/M, Pre Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sebastian Moran knows there are two reasons for his boss to drink. The first is predictable. For the last three years, on the last day of December, Jim Moriarty comes by with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whiskey.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The second comes unexpectedly, at the end of April, the day he’s declared innocent and released from prison. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This is the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> I started this thing like four months ago and have been meaning to finish it on and off since. It was supposed to just be funny how Jim got the idea for the crown heist and then yeah.
> 
> Title from DCFC's "The New Year"

Sebastian Moran knows there are two reasons for his boss to drink. The first is predictable. For the last three years, on the last day of December, Jim Moriarty comes by with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whiskey. The whiskey is always top shelf stuff, and Moran does his best to savour it. He’ll only have a couple glasses on New Year’s Eve, while his boss goes through half the vodka.

Jim drops by not long after Sebastian’s finished dinner. He shoves the whiskey into his sniper’s hand and heads straight to the kitchen, where he starts with dry martinis. After the second one, though, he produces a bottle of cranberry juice from his paper bag and starts with that. At this point they’ve usually got an hour to go before midnight, and Sebastian’s barely finished off his first, albeit full, glass. This is also when Jim gets, well, to put it plainly, giggly and slutty. It’s like watching an adolescent unravel under his first couple beers.

By the time the New Year rings in, Sebastian is on his couch with the lips of a very drunk, very pink-faced consulting criminal wrapped firmly around his prick, and his fingers are digging into his thighs as Jim sucks and licks and bites like a starved dog.

The only reason they even know it’s next year is because the rest of London is shouting it from the balconies and rooftops. Some years it doesn’t fazes either of them. This year, Jim launches himself off and away with a wet pop that makes Sebastian groan. As he stumbles around the couch towards the kitchen, Sebastian lets his head fall back and releases a breathy “Fuck.” It’s not the first time Jim’s stopped halfway through, drunk or sober. Sometimes he gets bored. Sometimes Sebastian’s convinced he just wants to watch how he reacts. After three years, Sebastian couldn’t give a shit about why.

He closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his saliva-slicked cock, about to pull himself off when Jim’s slurred speech interrupts, “I’m not finished with that.”

Sebastian swallows his annoyance and opens his eyes to find Jim standing with a silver cracker in his hand, holding one end out to him. He wants to ask if his boss is seriously asking him to pop a New Years cracker with him, but he knows from past experience that those sorts of questions tend to result in being insulted and a tirade about how disagreeable normal people are. So he grits his teeth and takes hold of his end, hoping Jim was serious about not being finished with his blowjob.

Jim yanks his arm back and the cracker snaps in two, its plastic and paper innards flying in all directions. He giggles and tosses his bit of cardboard and paper aside, not seeming particularly concerned with collecting the contents. As he drops back to his knees between Sebastian’s legs, Jim gets distracted by a folded bit of orange tissue paper. He opens up the crown and positions it gallantly on his head, completely and utterly lopsided.

“You look good in a crown, boss,” Sebastian says with a smirk. The whiskey’s gotten to his head a bit and loosened his tongue.

“I do, don’t I?” Jim muses. Then he digs his fingers into Sebastian’s thighs and swallows him whole.

 

There are two reasons for Jim Moriarty to drink. The second comes unexpectedly, at the end of April, the day he’s declared innocent and released from prison. Every medium of news is on fire with the triple heist and the bizarre trial.

Sebastian’s hand goes straight to his Browning when he hears the knock at his door. He opens the door with the Browning just out of sight.

“Boss,” he greets, opening the door wider.

Jim walks in, loosening his tie, looking oddly dishevelled in his signature Westwood. “Did you watch me on the telly?” He says it like it’s an inside joke.

“Should I have?” Sebastian closes the door.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be very exciting for you, what with you knowing the punch line.” Jim starts humming and lets himself into the kitchen as always.

Sebastian already knows this isn’t a business meeting, but seeing as he doesn’t know what it is, he’s not sure how he ought to act just now. He sticks to reserved, declining the glass of whisky Jim offers him when he emerges. He’s poured two glasses of the cheap stuff Sebastian buys himself. He sets the second on the coffee table and sits in the armchair. Sebastian lowers himself slowly onto the couch.

“Trouble, boss?”

“Always,” Jim replies with a thin smile. He’s distracted, but not in his usual way.

Sebastian can’t place it for a long time, but eventually it comes to him: Jim is daydreaming. His mind is actually wandering, rather than going sharply from point to point, evaluating and processing like it always does. Three and a half years, Sebastian has never seen Jim like this. It’s more dangerous than Jim usually is; Sebastian knows the general theme of the unexpected he can expect from Jim on an average day. But this? This is unreadable. On top of it, he’s starting to get inebriated enough to give him an extra level of unpredictability.

Sebastian sits very still.

“What are your plans, Sebastian?” Jim doesn’t look at him. He’s staring with mild interest at his glass.

“Plans for what, boss?” He doesn’t have an assignment at present.

“After I’m done with you.” He empties his glass and changes it out for the second one.

This is the first hint Sebastian’s had that Jim might be terminating their contract soon. It’s a bittersweet prospect. The steady money’s good, but he’s been getting bored sitting around the flat most days. He’s pretty sure most of Jim’s sporadic assignments are just to keep him entertained, and that he’s been waiting for a specific use for Sebastian. “Find another employer.”

“Mm, you won’t have any quite so interesting as me.”

“Probably not.”

“I want you on Baker Street.”

“Twenty-four-seven, boss?”

“Yes.” Jim retrieves an envelope from inside his jacket and tosses it to Sebastian.

There are four photos inside, all faces Sebastian’s familiar with. Four top assassins.

“They’ll be around. If any makes any direct contact with him, put them down.” Jim smiles. “But only if one of the others doesn’t get to it first.”

“Yes, boss.” There is a fifth slip of paper inside the envelope, and he holds it up. “Anything I need to know, boss?”

“Be there when I call you.”

Sebastian nods and returns the contents to the envelope. He’ll memorise the address later before burning the lot.

Jim drains his second glass and stands. “That’ll be your last job,” he says, indicating the envelope and the address inside.

“Alright.”

“I’ve recommended you to Fred Porlock.”

Sebastian raises a brow. “Thanks.”

Jim smirks. “No reason someone with your talents should starve because he can’t find work.” He straightens his jacket and heads out, humming a piece of classical music to himself.

It’s the last time they talk face-to-face, and the last drink Jim Moriarty ever has.


End file.
